


Sine Alis Volare

by MHnA



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22820452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MHnA/pseuds/MHnA
Summary: With the secrets of the demon gates unfolding in Fortuna city, Credo decides upon the road of no return to protect Nero's future. M/M slash; CredoxNero [main pairing], CredoxDante
Relationships: Credo/Dante (Devil May Cry), Credo/Nero (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Devil May Cry





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to these characters, all characters depicted belong to Capcom. :)
> 
> I uploaded this story a long time ago on FF but it's pretty much dead over there and I wanted to give AO3 a go. lol The title is latin for "without wings to fly". I made this story at a time when I was battling depression, an art job that demanded a lot of me, so it was hard to finish while experiencing burnout. I'm in a much better place in life and that comes with creativity bursting at the seams. I decided to revise things and post it here. I ship Credo so damn hard, but then again I have a penchant for military men who are hardasses, but softies on the inside. lol Hope you guys like it. :)

**Chapter One**

**A Dog's Dilemma**

“You called to see me, your Holiness?”

Sanctus drew a pale, long-fingered hand towards Credo as he signaled him to sit down beside him. Agnus peered back at Credo with contempt, his ridiculous monocle glinting as he did so.

"Ah, Credo. I was just leaving." Agnus decided to say a little too loudly. "Your excellency." He bowed dramatically as he exited the room.

Despite several attempts to take his place, Credo was almost certain Sanctus would never sway for the likes of Agnus. Agnus was an insipid, obnoxious brute who fancied himself a scholar. He was as bland as his poor taste in clothing. He was all but annoying, overbearingly analytical at times. Credo was sure Agnus was dropped on the head as a child. Simply put, Credo hated the man. He particularly hated that nasty glint in Agnus' eye whenever he came around. It was clear he wanted his position. Had Agnus known what it took to be here at Sanctus' side, had he known of the sacrifices Credo had given to be here... he was sure Agnus would never have the bravery to stand in his shoes.

Without question he took his seat by Sanctus, the figure head that the Order of Sparta revered. Their chapter had started here in Fortuna City, and it wasn't until recently their campaign had expanded beyond Credo's wildest dreams. Some had speculated about Sanctus and his motives. Credo had no time for speculation, especially with the demon gates popping up on the outskirts of the city. Like a loyal, trained dog, he did as he was told. He questioned nothing all these years until recently.

Credo had felt it for a while now that something was afoot. He didn't understand how he knew, but he did. The things he'd seen... Sanctus was plotting something, and he'd been suspicious for a time. The commander knew that someday that fervent loyalty would be put to the test. Sanctus' long gaze brought Credo at attention, stiffening at the look in that old fox's eyes. Credo sat at the old man’s side, crossing his kid-skin gloved hands one over the other against the table.

“Credo,” He was firm, but age had settled into his voice. Credo listened intently just for that reason.

“Your boy, Nero, is it? I hear complaints…” It always took Sanctus a while to get to the point. It took everything in Credo’s body not to twitch. He’d heard of Nero’s raucous nearly enough already. And now his foolish sister was batting lashes at him. Credo was definitely not in the mood to hear even his Holiness.

 _'You’d think he’d give a damn and show some respect to the other members. Now, I’m up to my neck in complaints. When I catch that brat…’_ Credo thought angrily. He didn’t bat a lash as Sanctus’ rested his hand over Credo’s tightly clutched ones. No matter how many times Sanctus did this, Credo could never feel the warmth of them.

“I will take any measure to get him in line. I just need more time, your Holiness. He's still a boy—“

“Yes, I realize that.” Sanctus interjected calmly. Credo held his tongue.

“He is your charge. His lack of discipline is a direct image of you. He has no respect for the sanctity of Sparda." Sanctus began.

"Now, _Credo_ ,” Sanctus whispered sweetly, the pad of his thumb brushing Credo’s gloved hand. The action made his skin crawl, but he watched Sanctus carefully. He swallowed down his resentment, finally speaking up.

“Yes, your _Holiness_?” 

“You know what happens to those who cannot behave well with the Order?” Credo stared into his lap for a long time before he snapped his head up attentively.

“Yes your Holiness, I do.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

When Credo had finally entered his home it had been late. Credo rested his head at the door, feeling the heavy weight of the information Sanctus shared in private with him.

All this talk of a Savior from Sanctus was all he was thinking about. Sanctus had promised many things during this secret meeting, but Credo began to wonder if it was all the fantasy of a senile old man. Nevertheless, Credo was fascinated. Was it possible to become an angel? 

He trudged up the steps slowly as he tugged open his uniform. A bottle of brandy and schematics of Blanco Angelo, a special guardian class that would be constructed to protect the city were littered about the messy floor of his study. It was his space of Zen, a place he could go to when things were out of control. Right now he wanted to tug off his strapped boots, and fall asleep on the divan in that room. Tonight's choice of poison would be Cognac Brandy, a twenty-year old Delamain Pale & Dry that was given to him as a gift when he ascended the ranks to Commander.

His household was a respectively quiet place. Kyrie was hardly ever here now, constantly at the church to pray and sing and do whatever young girls her age did. Despite his beloved sister’s absence, Credo enjoyed the peace and quiet when he could. He wasn't one for social interactions, and enjoyed being alone. Deep into his thirties, Credo had learned to befriend his loneliness. The job had no room for much of anything else. The rest was simply chaos.

Entering his study (which was adjacent to the master bedroom) Credo tossed his uniform top across the divan, settling in an old wooden chair with a sigh. There were simple pleasures in life, and this chair was certainly one of them. The crystal snifter of brandy sat untouched at the messy desk beside him as he contemplated drinking to boost his denial at what was going on. It was always a choice he had no problem making.

_Until now._

Credo was always known to be self-sufficient. Since the time his parents passed away, he’d stepped up to take care of his little sister, Kyrie. Things had been very hard at first—he was only fifteen years old when Sanctus took power of the Order.

Credo’s brow creased. Those times were well beyond him, now.

_“Do you know what your name means, my son?”_

_“No, your Holiness, I do not.”_

_“It is a statement or belief; a creed. Remember to walk uprightly in this world, my dearest Credo.”_

The soft sound of Sanctus’ voice ebbed away into the back of Credo’s mind as his memory faded away. Credo reached for the snifter without hesitation to pour himself a glass. It had been years since he’d remembered that conversation. It was one of the turning points to his career as an acolyte to the order, and a pivotal moment into adulthood. He had no idea he would become a target of Sanctus, nor become his right hand.

The things he’d done to get there haunted him—foolish, stupid things.

 _‘I did it for Kyrie, for our future.’_ But, deep down that was never the real reason. The heat built up in his chest and stomach as he leaned back with his legs spread. _I could use one more glass,_ Credo rationalized as he poured another. Just as he was about to take a sip, a soft rap at his door caused him to reach for his sword on impulse, but eased when he saw Nero’s white head poke through.

_'Damn. Just like Nero to interrupt my plans of self-pity.'_

“How’d you get in here?” Credo barked; Nero barely took into account how grumpy Credo was. Perhaps he was so used to Credo’s abrasive behavior, or was simply unaffected by it.

“Kyrie gave me the key.” Nero’s brow rose in amusement at Credo’s almost confused glare.

“You and my sister have been awfully close. Did you steal it off of her?” Credo sneered as he downed his glass. Nero leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.

“I just pointed out that she gave—me—the— _key_.” Nero reiterated, rolling his eyes. “You’re drinking this late, again huh?”

“Go away, Nero.” Credo grunted, not amused by Nero’s game of twenty-one questions. But the boy strode into the room regardless as an open act of invading his privacy.

_'Nero, be damned.'_

Not anyone could be in this room. Kyrie wasn’t even allowed in here. What made Nero think he was more deserving? Credo sat back and reached for the glass grumpily.

 _"He has no sense of self-control, Credo. You know what happens to those who’re unruly, don’t you?’"_ The soft titter of Sanctus’ laughter echoed at the back of his mind. The hair on Credo’s neck stood on end. Sanctus could not get a hold of Nero. Credo felt ill at ease at the idea. He was sure Nero knew nothing of those "initiations" the Order did in secrecy. Credo wanted to keep it that way. He would protect Nero for as long as he could. Not that he really needed it, now that he was a capable fighter for the Order. In fact, perhaps he was one of the best. His attitude on the other hand…

“I spoke with his Holiness, today.” Credo let out tersely as Nero tumbled haphazardly into the divan. Credo watched him with furrowed brows as Nero’s muddied boots draped over one of the arms. Credo rubbed the bridge of his nose as he barreled on.

“About?” Nero dug a finger in his ear. Credo seemed affronted by the act.

“Your inability to cooperate with the Order, it seems.”

“Look, it’s not my fault those assholes have a problem with how I _do_ things. It gets the freaking job done. Case closed.” Nero made hand gestures as if to wipe his hands of something, tossing his hair out from his face. Credo’s eyes narrowed before downing another glass.

“I get that you are doing all this to prove something. But, don’t be an idiot.” By the fifth cup, Credo could feel the velvety burn of the amber liquid coat his insides. He felt right where he needed to be, almost ready to ignore Nero’s presence.

“Gonna give me a taste of that?”

Credo had almost forgotten about Nero for a moment, swiveling slowly in his creaky wooden chair. Credo regarded Nero’s crouched sitting position on the couch. The boy was staring at him openly with that curious gaze of his.

Credo curled his lip. Just what was he looking at, anyway? Credo’s eyes wandered lazily over Nero’s facial features. He’d grown so much in these last two years alone. Nero had always been quite the pipsqueak in his younger years, constantly following the older male about. He’d been so taken to Credo as a child. It was borderline ridiculous how much time they’d spent together. In some ways Credo was like the brotherly figure Nero enjoyed looking up to. The boy made no secret about it. Credo never wanted to admit it, but Nero looking up to him was an experience he did not like at first. The same snot-nosed brat he’d encountered on those orphanage steps was no longer a boy. Nero was fast becoming a man. Unable to hold their gaze, the older man averted his eyes elsewhere.

“Aren't you too young to be drinking this? Don't ask again.” Credo chuffed.

“I’m not a little kid anymore, Credo.”Credo pausing at Nero’s intense gaze. The older man looked away again, the awkward silence filling the space between them. It was true that he was no longer a child. Credo also understood the rift between them was due to them being generations apart. He just didn't understand teenagers nowadays. He wondered if he had been this moody and insufferable at that age.

Credo's stomach coiled. His childhood had not been the best. Perhaps he had poor judgement in what kids were "up to" these days. Maybe he was just getting old.

“I suppose you aren’t.” Credo finally said as he reached for another glass atop the shelf, pouring the glass to the brim. Nero’s ears perked. Credo pretended he didn’t see that as he poured the glass. Surely there was a law out there somewhere he was breaking.

 _Story of my life,_ Credo thought sourly.

The soft shuffle of Nero’s leather-strapped boots behind Credo made his shoulders tense. Nero sat at the edge of the desk, plucking the glass from Credo’s hand, their fingers touching. Credo looked up slowly to watch Nero drink down the amber liquid, a trail of liquor dripping down his throat. Nero watched Credo reach for the snifter, stopping the older man from getting it. There was an almost teasing smile about that young face of his—Credo gave him a suspicious glance.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Credo asked. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t ask sooner.

Nero instantly seemed withdrawn, cocking his head to the side to shrug nonchalantly. “I don’t know, to be honest. I hoped you’d be here, so I came up.”

He came for him? Credo shifted in his chair, slightly guarded by Nero’s confession. Working for the order had kept Credo pre-occupied most days. There was a time when they hardly saw one another, both of them pre-occupying themselves with the swarms of demons occupying the outskirts of Fortuna City. His cheeks colored a bit, clearing his throat. It had been quite some time since they even sat in the same room together. To do so now was more uncomfortable than anything. He hardly recognized the young man sitting just a hair’s breadth away from him.

“I suppose I’m glad… you came.” Credo leaned back into the chair, placing his glass down.

“You do?” Nero sounded genuinely surprised, his cheeks tinged pink. Was that hope he’d seen? Credo decided not to look at his face. It was nothing to be excited about, honestly. He didn’t know why Nero had to act so… he didn’t know how to describe it, really.

“Well, I mean—“ Had that been uncertainty in the boy’s eyes? “Err… never mind.” Credo watched him do his trademark nose-scratch. He found himself a bit irritated.

_Yes, it was definitely time for Nero to leave._

“It’s time for you to go.”

“Aw, c’mon Credo!” Nero’s head shot up, standing up to lean on the arm-rests to Credo’s chair, barring his way from escape. The older man let out a sound, curling his lip at Nero’s closeness. Credo gripped into the table. Something about this was wrong.

“You’re making me uncomfortable by just being here, so if you don’t mind—” Credo let out, clasping his hand over his mouth as soon as it left him. He had way too much to drink, deciding upon blaming the copious amounts of brandy he’d devoured for its effects. Nero’s eyes lowered as he moved closer until they inhaled each other’s exhales. Nero’s pink, parted lips were in Credo’s vision.

_Wait a fucking minute. What is happening here, exactly?_

“Credo, I—” Credo’s eyes widened, glued to his chair as Nero bit his lower lip. The sound of the door closing downstairs sent Credo rushing out of the chair. Nero gave a soft curse.

“ _Kyrie’s here._ ” Credo whispered out.

“Let her come, then?” Credo heard from behind him. The older man whipped around to stare at the boy, brows furrowed.

“You're the one who said she never comes _up_ here!” Nero whispered harshly, his cheeks red. The boy’s cheeks lit up brighter than a Christmas tree at Credo’s reprimanding glare. 

“ _Yes,_ but—“ The hamster wheel in his mind was finally beginning to turn. This was probably the first time in a long time since he’d seen Nero embarrassed with himself. It still reminded him that Nero was still so very young. Way too young.

_'Too young for… stop it.'_

The noises died away, both of them standing at the door as if they'd committed murder, uncertain as to why they were both hiding like mice in an attic.

What was Nero going to say back then had they not been interrupted? Later on the commander pondered on it but decided to let it go. Deep down, he didn’t want to know. It was just better if Nero did him a favor and kept his mouth shut. Another glass of brandy would help douse his brain free of whatever odd and guilty feeling he had about their little interaction.

He _hoped_ , anyway.


	2. Taming of the Shrew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to these characters, all characters depicted belong to Capcom. :)

_“I have plans for the boy, just as I have plans for you, Credo.”_

Credo’s stomach lurched as he stood out at the balcony to his office. Sanctus’ words had sunk deep into the commander like a warning. There was a niggling, suspicious feeling when the old fox had said that. To those that didn’t know Sanctus as intimately as Credo had, they may have overlooked the meaning behind those words.

The more information Credo gathered on Sanctus, the more he tugged on this tangled web of secrets he unfolded. He wasn’t sure if Sanctus had caught on to what he was doing. Sanctus wasn’t a stupid man. He appeared aloof and played up the role of being a wizened, albeit zealous old man, but Credo knew he was far more capable of doing damage when he chose to.

The large building they called their headquarters stretched out into the sky like a monolith. Sea stretched out for miles to the rear while Fortuna city lay peacefully before it. The casual sound of cars and chatter was carried away into the wind. From up here, Credo had a bird’s eye view of the waves, the slight scent of the ocean hitting him like a nostalgic memory.

It was their city to defend. But the sight of calm, blue sky did very little to bring Credo any comfort.

Credo had spent an inordinate amount of time being Sanctus’ lapdog. It was always within Sanctus’ right to get whatever he wanted. After all, he was their leader. What Sanctus wanted he would have, no matter how persistent the cause.

_No matter how damaging things got down this winding, dark path._

When Credo’s parents had died mysteriously, he had been driven to near madness. Someone had to be responsible for him becoming an orphan. Credo had recalled how enraged he felt, how passionate he had become in his search for something to hate. He had become something he couldn’t recognize back then. Turning to martial arts had helped direct his rage into something far more productive.

To get closer to his father in some way, he joined the Order of the Rose by the time he was sixteen. Credo had every intention of rising the ranks and making a name for himself if it meant having access to his parents’ files. Despite feeling such deep despair at his parents’ passing, Credo recalled how bright-eyed he’d been, how passionate he was about finding out the truths of this world. It had mattered to him so much, back then.

It wouldn’t take him long to find out about Sanctus and his obsession with him.

Credo’s kid-skin gloves protested as his hands clenched. He’d done his usual duty to turn a blind eye to everything Sanctus did behind closed doors. Credo had done well to justify his objections for many reasons, that there was a means to every end.

Credo’s lips pursed tightly. He did what he had to do, but since Sanctus had set his sight on Nero, he felt apprehensive… angered, even. The test of faith, he knew, would come but he never thought it would be Nero that would be the catalyst for what was to come.

 _Damn it all to hell._ Credo thought, gritting his teeth.

In a way, Credo felt he was the one responsible. He knew it to be inevitable. As things were, Credo stood directly between Sanctus and Nero. Just how, exactly, would he save Nero from this?

Nero’s young face appeared in his mind. What would he say if he were to know? Would he blame him? Hate him? Credo was too unsure and lost in his own mind when he felt hands creep around his waist. He turned rapidly, the deft jab of his elbow colliding into—

“ _Grkk_ —! **GEEZ** , CREDO—“

_Oh._

Nero’s soft hiss made Credo frown. It served Nero right for sneaking up on him. He was first commander to the Order. Sneaking up on him was no easy cake walk. But Nero had. This posed as a real problem, but it was something he could deal with later. His pride could be damaged later when a snifter of brandy would present itself.

It always did.

“You’re not bleeding. Stop whining.” Credo muttered as he stood closer. “Let me look.” He took hold of Nero’s chin, tilting his head. Nero had done an inordinate amount of dodging until Credo pinned him with a severe glance. The boy’s lip curled into a sad attempt at a pout, obeying him reluctantly.

Credo’s lips twitched at the display as he inspected the swell of Nero’s cheek.

“About last night—“ Slowly, Nero took a moment to speak, his chin still in Credo’s gloved hand. They looked at each other long and hard. Credo was the first to look away, letting the boy go. When he was sure he could compose himself, he spoke.

“That part where you invaded my privacy? Yes, I definitely remember that. Get on with it.” Credo muttered curtly. Somehow in saying that, he’d manage to silence the boy. Usually Nero took every opportunity to butt heads with him. It was a testimony of his coming of age. All boys that age were rambunctious, weren't they?

Even he was at some point.

 _'Sanctus tamed you, though. Didn’t he?'_ The voice deep inside his mind whispered venomously. Credo shut his eyes.

No. Not now. Not when he’d done so much to erase those memories.

 _'He’ll take him, too. Or do you want him for yourself?'_ The voice cackled.

“Stop.” Credo whispered aloud with a harsh tone. Nero was still there, watching on with a look of anger and confusion. Credo wanted to laugh, but knew he couldn’t. Just how crazy was he becoming? He silently wished for Nero to disappear and leave him to his venemous thoughts, but a part of him was glad someone was tethering him to reality.

“Look, I’ll get out of your hair, alright?” It was the first time he’d seen Nero look so dejected. A pang of guilt roiled in the pit of his stomach at the almost unbearable glare Nero gave.

He could resist it like all those other times.

“Nero,” He heard himself say.

_'I could let him walk away. I could.'_

“I didn’t...” Credo let out awkwardly, his back to the white-haired teen, his hands clasped tightly behind him.

“I—yesterday was just—I was stressed is all. Sanctus has been rather… demanding as of late.” Credo said slowly. He still had a job to do, even if Nero would hate him for it down the road.

“Then, can I come up, tonight?” The question seemed to be lost on the commander for a moment. Credo felt ridiculously uneasy about his request and the implication in those words. He almost knew Nero would say that. It was just like the boy to be obstinate, pushy, and without boundaries.

Credo didn’t like surprises and Nero was full of them as of late. Nero looked so damned hopeful. Credo was beginning to feel conflicted.

 _'Over what, exactly?'_ His mind supplied in response. 

God only knew he was a complete bastard when it came to saying yes to anything. The word “no” formed at his lips, but then Nero was giving one of those stares of his—Credo suddenly couldn’t find the words to speak. Feeling cheated, Credo pursed his lips. Nero hadn't used that damn face on him since he was a two feet tall.

“Take off your boots, next time, for God’s sake.” Credo surrendered with a sigh, wondering if this was a good idea. Unbeknownst to Credo’s uneasiness, Nero hugged him tightly—something the older man was definitely not expecting.

“It’ll be like old times.” He heard Nero say softly, and gave a tight squeeze. The commander's hands didn't know where to land, letting out an exasperated sigh as he pat Nero’s broad shoulder in a way that made one think the boy was made of some dangerously volatile substance. When he pulled back, Nero was watching him again. A soft rap came at the large oak stained doors, both of them jumping at the noise.

That **_had_** to stop.

“That’s my cue to get out of here.” Nero winked as he pulled away, adjusting Red Queen on his back as he threw a long leg over the balcony edge. He could still feel the boy’s warmth around his waist, reminding him of what little resolve he'd had in stopping the boy. Frowning, Credo watched Nero jump off and into the bushes far below. It was a miracle that Nero never broke his damned legs pulling stunts like that.

“You may come in.” Credo barked, feeling irritated. The fear in the hooded clergyman’s eyes that opened the door brought him what little self-satisfaction he had left in this god-forsaken world.

* * *

When it came time for Credo to escape to his study, it had been late. The commander did most of his sleeping in his study, the bed a floor below remained undisturbed. He hadn't slept in it in ages. Awaking from sweat-inducing nightmares spoiled the comfort of beds for him. Even now as he was deep into adulthood, Credo admittedly had a problem sleeping in one. Sleep was such a rare commodity for him, these days.

Kyrie had always taken a habit to fix his bed, even though Credo had discouraged her several times not to.

The scent of wood and old books was heavy in the air. Credo found it to be a comfort when he was surrounded by books. Being resigned to living indoors had been lonely, and there wasn't much to do except read. He had always been a bookworm growing up, and through his love of books Credo found knowledge to be a great tool that would later serve him well.

His normal ritual of divesting his garments and indulging in his favorite poison for the night was all Credo hoped for nowadays. He was not the poster-child for adulthood. Credo didn't think of himself as some exemplary model of society, even though he acted as such standing alongside Sanctus.

Credo put the glass down, one hand reaching up to pluck each button one by one, expertly tugging at the material to expose his hairy chest. He felt the warmth of the brandy coursing through him now, lulled into a lazy trance. This was his usual routine. He relaxed into the divan as he kicked off his combat boots, his head rolling to the side with a loud sigh.

The soft jiggle of the door knob on the other side of the room brought Credo at attention, reaching for his sword.

“C’mon, you said I could come _iiin_ …!” Nero’s muffled voice sounded from the other side of the door. Up until that point Credo had hoped the boy would somehow forget.

 _‘Wishful thinking on my part.’_ Scrubbing the five o’clock shadow already growing on his face, Credo finally stood up.

When Credo opened the door, he paused. Nero hadn’t been in his usual attire. The teen wore a plain t-shirt and… were those _dinosaur_ pajama pants? He gave a slow once over, ignoring Nero’s oddly determined gaze despite the small flush of color blooming across the bridge of his nose. The scent of soap was strong in his nostrils.

He showered recently, Credo noted with odd interest.

“Um—“ Credo finally realized where Nero’s eyes were focused, looking down. The lapel of his uniform was left haphazardly open, exposing the delineation of his pale, but sculpted chest. Nero scratched the back of his head, obviously embarrassed he’d been caught staring.

Credo stepped aside, closing the flap curtly with one hand, letting the young man in.

“Yes, I realize I’m pale.” Credo let out as he frantically buttoned the front. No matter how much sun he got, his skin refused to tan well. Credo had been sickly as a child and stayed indoors often. He could recall how he always sat at the bay window-sill, longing to join the children below as they played. He envied them for their exuberant health and energy.

“I didn’t think that.” Nero managed to say. His voice sounded awfully gravelly.

“What exactly goes on in that brain of yours, then?”

“I… it’s nothing.”

Credo’s jaw flexed, a thick brow arching into a perfect point. He definitely had no time to play silly games of “who would smoke who out”. If Nero wasn’t man enough to say what was on his mind, then the topic didn’t need to be discussed.

Nevertheless, it had already been a long day. Later on when he would think about this, Credo would regret his actions, but as for now he had every intent to provoke the youth further. “Then what were you thinking about?”

Nero blushed, biting his lower lip. “Nothing! I was just _lookin’_ , ok?”

There was something about denial that always brought the schadenfreude out of him. The loud-mouthed version of Nero he was so used to seeing was not the boy who stood before him right now. There was vulnerability in the tone of his voice as he said it. Credo found some sort of self-satisfaction in his immediate silence, taking his rightful seat in his favorite chair.

Children would always be children…which led to his next point. 

“Maybe you should be focusing like that on young girls your age.” Credo let out nonchalantly, reaching for his reading glasses, skimming over a book that lay open on his desk. Later on he wouldn’t need them as the snifter of brandy adjacent to him called his name longingly. He would answer— _soon_.

It was a hard shove to send the boy over the edge—maybe to open his eyes to the fact that whatever Nero was thinking of doing was futile. He was 100 years too early to play on the stage of adults. 

Nero looked angry at his words.

 _Good,_ Credo thought. Maybe he would get some sense and move on with the nonsense floating about in that stupid brain of his.

“That’ll never happen.” Nero gritted out.

“Ha!” Credo barked, a mirthless chuckle splitting the silence between them. “I doubt a boy your age isn’t thinking about anything but girls. Why, in my time—“

“You don’t get it, do you?” Nero spat out, and Credo’s teasing grin slowly dwindled away. And just like that, the moment had died as soon as it started.

“I’ve seen the way you dawdle around Kyrie—“

“ I’m… g…gay… I _think_.” Nero blurted out, falling silent. Credo didn’t really hear him right.

Credo took a long while to collect his thoughts before reaching for the snifter in controlled silence, concentrating on pouring the contents into the crystal glass nearby. None of this made very much sense, and he was sure Nero had no real idea of knowing something so monumental like his sexual preference.

Even Credo hadn’t known for a long time. He’d genuinely tried to love someone once upon a time, but it wasn’t for him. Credo had learned earlier on that love was messy, hard and complex. It didn't matter that he had been so head over heels back then. He had been so trusting, so open, only to lose himself in the process. The commander recalled a time when he had been so hopelessly in love, to be embraced and lie in the sun before feeling the first seed of doubt and regret. He had learned early on that love meant different things to different people.

After it was all said and done, he had closed that chapter of his life like all other things. Credo vowed to never feel that way again and proceeded to move on, never to dwell on it again.

Some people were just better off alone, and he felt he was one of them. Between his duties and Fortuna city, there was no room for personal pleasure. Credo didn’t allow himself to want too many things, a punishment he felt was well-deserved. It was just easier to think that than unpack the overwhelming loneliness he'd worked so well to internalize.

Feelings only got in the way. Being emotional also got people killed. Over time it was all just things he’d long since let go.

Amidst the confusion of Nero's very loud declaration, Credo took pause to collect his thoughts. He was the worst person to ask about advice on the matter, and Credo would not offer. Credo decided in his mind that Nero had no idea what it meant to be gay, and over time he would probably come to realize he never was. The boy didn’t know how it was to embrace another man and know it in its entirety; to be ostracized, ridiculed, and stigmatized for it.

Credo lifted the glass to his lips, memories of his own sexual discrepancies in his youth melting away at the velvety burn of scotch traveling down his throat into his belly. The commander decided this would be none of his business and would act accordingly.

“Can I, uh… get some of that?” Credo heard the boy ask nervously. He eyed him for a while, incredulous at his gall to even ask.

"I suppose you have to grow up some time." He handed him a glass without looking his direction.

It was going to be a _very_ long night.


	3. No Such Thing As Purity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to these characters, all characters depicted belong to Capcom. :)

Credo pushed his bangs out from his tired eyes with a soft breath. Despite the sunshine and clear skies, his morning had gone off to a rocky start.  
  
He awoke to what seemed to be the brightest ray of sunlight hitting him right in the eyes from between the blinds. Awaking in the early morning at the sound of birds was always something Credo detested. It took a while to adjust his blurred vision as he sat up on the divan in his study. The familiar, dull throb of his brain at the light filtering through the blinds ushered a deep groan out of the commander.  
  
He had yet to feel anything else other than regret every time he woke up like this.  
  
Credo finally acknowledged the extra weight in his lap with a start. It didn't take long for him to figure out what was going on. Credo's heart stopped as he caught sight of a particularly messy white head cradled dangerously deep into Credo's more… _sensitive_ areas.  
  
Nero shifted with a soft moan that sent a trill of unease through Credo. The boy squint his eyes, lethargic as a new-born babe as he blinked up at the older man from his lap. Then Nero decided instead to bury his face into the dark, dusty trail of hair that went along Credo's exposed navel and stomach.  
  
Gob-smacked, the commander stared on in what may have been a mixture of horror and—  
  
 _'No, just horror!'_

"Get **_up_**." Credo let out in the most militant voice he could muster, grabbing the boy by the back of his neck with one strong pull. Nero gave a grunt of confusion at first, lifting his head to find Credo glaring at him.  
  
He shifted sleepily, mumbling something beneath his breath as he fumbled into a sitting position. Credo caught a glimpse of Nero's rather impressive morning wood, quickly adjusting himself. Credo took great care to stare someplace else while the teen slowly found his bearings.  
  
Credo ground his teeth, scratching at fragmented memories, all things he couldn't make heads or tails of. His head began to pound fiercely.  
  
The sound of shuffling downstairs had Credo's spine standing on end in panic. He'd forgotten all about Kyrie. He wouldn't allow this morning to turn into a cluster-fuck just yet. Not if he could help it.  
  
"You have to go, _now_." Credo let out in a low, menacing tone. Nero yawned loudly, wiping sleep from his eyes.  
  
"The fuck for…" He mumbled, but Credo didn't answer, busy on finding a way to detach himself from the situation for both their sakes.  
  
In fact, he was too busy looking at his uniform draped neatly over the divan arm, eyeing the rows of embroidered buttons as though they were complex equations rather than shiny buttons. Nero bit his lip and watched him from the divan from beneath those long lashes. He was watching him with that curious glance of his.  
  
Credo felt exposed at the way those eyes ran over his chest, and knew the boy was more than just looking out of curiosity. The older man pretended not to see it as he reached for his button-down vest, donning it over his broad shoulders.  
  
Nero was young, and most boys his age were horny little devils. Credo would put it past him just this one time.  
He was sure he'd heard a sigh of what may have sounded like disappointment nearly erupt from behind him. Credo turned to stare daggers.  
  
Credo hoped he wouldn't be under attack by another bout of teenage defiance from the boy at a crucial moment like this one. The boy complied finally after a long moment of who-gets-to-blink-first.  
  
Nero stretched loud and long on the divan, his shirt riding up to expose his stomach. Credo caught sight of the almost silver-white treasure trail that teased the band of Nero's pajama pants; the beginnings of what made boys into men, he thought. Credo looked away in time as Nero finished adjusting his shirt down over his midriff.  
  
There was something awfully deliberate with his actions, but now was not the time for him to… speculate on Nero's motives.  
  
 _Christ_ , Credo thought to himself. He was already becoming paranoid.  
  
There was something they both wanted to say, but the moment never came. Credo didn't know another man alive who could. For that, Credo was relieved. It was better for the both of them not to say something unnecessary about last night.  
  
 _"I'm gay, I think."  
  
_ "Time is it…" Nero muttered. His voice was scratchy and hoarse from lack of use. Credo ran another hand through his tawny brown hair, a stray strand falling over his eye. Credo hated how easily susceptible he was to cow-licks in the morning. Pomade was the only thing that kept his hair slicked back.  
  
"What matters is you have thirty minutes to get ready. I suggest you get started." Credo said in a stern tone as he finished buttoning his uniform. He couldn't recall much of last night. Only that Nero seemed to reduce to a blubbering mess after two full cups of his finest scotch.  
  
Was it smart of him to intoxicate a minor? It bloody well wasn't. However, Credo just wasn't the comforting type, and the kid needed, well, _something_. He'd seen how unsure and fragile Nero was, how afraid he'd been while keeping this secret from him.  
  
Last night he was a big brother again. He hadn't been that for Nero in a long time, he had to admit. It felt odd. However odd it may have been, Credo secretly hoped he'd never hear another one of those outbursts again. Teenage brains were an excellent specimen of crazy, the Commander concluded.

"Thirty minutesss? Christ on a stick, my head hurts…" He heard the teen hiss lazily.

"That's what you get for thinking you can drinking beyond your limit. I should've never let you." Credo snorted.

"For once you didn't have a stick up your ass, though." Nero gave a lop-sided smile as he rubbed one eye.

Credo's shoulders rode high at the snarky remark, but he didn't respond. Tongue-tied, he settled for silently frowning instead. When the teen finally found his legs, he stood to make his wobbly descent down the stairs and out of Credo's line of sight.  
  
When Nero was gone, Credo stood there for a long time.  
  
He spent the next hour and a half convincing himself this was none of his business. What happened last night may have just been forgotten to the winds by the morrow. Credo chose to believe that. As sunlight invaded the room through the blinds, somewhere deep within the Commander a seed of frustration and doubt began to grow.  
  


  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][]

When it came to the Order and their rituals, Nero wanted no part of it. He'd done well to let everyone know that he worked alone. Even though this was his first year out in the field, Nero had done well to complete every assignment to date.  
  
When it came to swordsmanship, he'd learned from the best. Watching Credo growing up had always spurred something deep inside of him. Like he was meant to hold a sword. Like destiny had his name in the book of fate. This was what he was born to do.  
  
So when he'd reached the age to join the order, naturally he did it to become closer to Credo. There were no "opportunities" for him outside of that. No schools would want him, his attendance and grades were pretty shit. No, Nero wanted a simple life, to be of service for a higher goal.  
  
When Red Queen and Blue Rose were handed to him by Credo, nothing felt more perfect. It meant trust; it meant he could get the job done. Slashing down those demons was a better thrill than anything else. Maybe even porn.  
  
But Nero liked his porn stash, like, _a lot_.  
  
Things were always better when he worked solo. People just often times than not got in his way. He was a natural in the field, and on most days the prey wasn't too much of a challenge.  
  
He pretended to appear bored out of his mind, blaring his mp3 player to the max to better enhance the appearance of youthful rebellion, pleased with the intense glares he was getting in his direction.

 _Who the hell cared what they thought?_ He lived off of chaotic energy.  
  
But, today Nero found himself among the crowd of Spardan followers, though it was not his idea. Credo had practically tugged his ear off to make sure he came. And, boy did he get a stern talking to.  
  
The man could be so downright _catty_ sometimes, Nero thought.  
  
Nero curled his lip. He hated being forced to do anything, much less congregate with those judgmental pricks. He wasn't much one for religious mind-freaks. And then there was the mother-load of all things bullshit, Sanctus.  
  
Sanctus was a creepy old zealot, with creepy old rituals. He just couldn't put his finger on why that was just yet, but the man reeked. He didn't know what, but he had a feeling someday he would seriously find out. He was usually right about these things.  
  
Well, usually. Most times he was made to look like an asshole. People were far more interested in correcting him over how he said things, versus the actual truth he felt compelled to say.  
  
 _They'd be right,_ Nero thought as he plucked up one of his insulated muff-like earphones to dig in his ear nonchalantly. Credo had insisted that Sanctus was doing things for the "greater good".  
  
"Greater good, _my ass_." He had promptly responded back then.  
  
Nero never bought it, but the determined look in Credo's eyes had always stilled his suspicions to an extent. If it weren't half-true, a man like Credo would never have believed it and joined the Order. And, Credo was a very smart man.  
  
In a lot of ways Nero admired Credo.  
  
 _The way he gets antsy when I tease him…  
  
_ Nero shifted in the pew at the thought, the crests of his cheeks coloring. He had to stop thinking things like that. He didn't think he would have spilled out his deepest secret so readily to Credo like that. He'd been so surprised with himself, but decided to barrel his way through to get a glass of brandy to ease the situation.  
The man looked ready to flee from him had it not been for the copious amounts of booze Nero got Credo to drink.  
  
Although they'd drunk quite a bit yesterday, Nero remembered everything.  
  
Worst of it was that he enjoyed taking advantage of the older man. He asked himself over and over if this was ok to do. _'A man like Credo needs encouragement to do things,'_ Nero debated with his inner self.  
  
No one really knew that Credo was actually a little clumsy, a big dork, and didn't handle embarrassment well. He was full of pride, and it was never to be hurt. Nero always made quick work of Credo by pressing his buttons to emit all three characteristics at once.  
  
He was the master of Credo-button mashing. He always enjoyed the borderline look of disgust on his face whenever he did the wrong things. It was one of Nero's passions in life. Almost smiling at the memories of his mischief, he heard the organ play its introduction, an angelic voice cutting through the loud blast of his music from his headphones.  
  
Kyrie's voice rang out in the distance, her strong and melodic voice carrying through the entire cathedral as she sang the usual opening hymn.

 _Listen to my voice calling you,_  
 _Calling you out of darkness,_  
 _Hear the Devil's cry of sin,_  
 _Always turn your back on Him  
  
_ Nero, no matter where in Fortuna, could hear Kyrie's song. It was haunting, sweet and graceful, but words of warning. He didn't know why. Some part of him just knew.  
  
Credo stood at Sanctus' side, his appearance never less than perfect as he ushered in his holiness. His hair was slicked back in its usual style, that haughty look of duty gracing his angled features down to the goatee he'd always keep trimmed. On anyone else, it would have looked over-the-top, cheesy even. But Credo looked perfect, just as he'd always been.

Nero's eyes were on him as Kyrie sang, unaware that he was staring openly.  
  
Credo's kid-skinned glove tightened as he stood beneath the bright lights, looking focused and ready to serve.  
Nero noticed the small signs of exhaustion on Credo's facial expression, his stomach tightened as guilt bore in him.  
  
"Sons… and daughters of Sparda," Sanctus' wizened voice carried throughout the cathedral as he spread out his arms slowly, his white and golden robe billowing in one fluid movement. "Let us remember what Sparda has done for us. We shall have a word of prayer," He bowed his head as his hands drew one over the other. Everyone in the congregation bowed except for the ever-defiant Nero.  
  
Nero's eyes were on Credo alone, noting the almost minute slouch in Credo's posture, the bags under his eyes. The way he pursed his lips when he was deep in thought always caught Nero's attention the most.  
  
Even in the most hallowed place, Nero's mind raced as he watched the Commander. He wanted to kiss those lips until they parted. Until they whispered unnamed, imaginary things that made his young sex ache at the illicit thought of it.  
  
Nero had spent the better part of his teenage years convincing himself that he was strange and wrong, dirty for feeling this way about a man who'd been nothing but family to him, raised, fed and clothed him. Nero convinced himself there was everything to fear in this need to test the boundaries.  
  
But last night had changed things. He had needed that brotherly figure to remind him that there was nothing to be afraid of. He had wanted to see Credo as the big brother he'd always known and loved. He wanted to believe that someday he'd stop looking at him that way. Nero had thought about all those things of Credo for the longest.  
  
It seemed impossible, so very impossible that Nero did what he could to distance himself. Things seemed ok, for a little while. But the distance did nothing but give him time to think about the very things he'd been running from.  
  
 _No more road to run on,_ Nero had thought.  
  
Credo had been so tender, so quiet and resolute, knowing moments like those were best left in silence. He remembered how Credo had held him, even though the commander hadn't been prepared for the impulsive hug Nero gave first.  
  
Arousal pooled in his belly at the memory, drawing his jacket discreetly closed as he stood mid-prayer. He had to get out of here. Slaying demons sounded way better than suffering another moment in this dump.

Red Queen and Blue Rose had his name all over it.


End file.
